Author: Ashley Townsend
Category: Nonfiction
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/ashley-townsend/page,19,105060-chasing_shadows.html
“Don’t look quite so shocked,” she reprimanded, all at once caring and firm. “I said I would keep an eye on you, did I not?” Sarah smiled, thinking it ironic that she had thought her mentor to be abrasive her first day, and now her motherly sternness provided comfort.
Sarah folded her legs beneath her and shifted into a sitting position, relaxing into the stack of pillows. “I wasn’t sure when I would get to see you again, since we aren’t working together anymore.”
“I would have been here sooner but was prevented from bringing supper to your room.” Disgruntled, Edith huffed, muttering under her breath, “Impudent fools.”
Startled, Sarah asked, “Am I not allowed to have visitors?”
“What? Of course you may.” Edith shook her head. “No, they simply prefer to station younger, more attractive servants in the guest wing and keep the seasoned staff at their usual posts. I nearly had to strangle the maid who was supposed to bring that to you.” She motioned with her head to the tray, her chest puffing victoriously. “She was new and rather young, but quite the persistent thing.”
“But I’m guessing you won the argument, anyway.” Sarah shot her a knowing grin and received a conspiratorial look.
“What do you think?”
“Right. So she resigned?” Edith laughed, the sound a mixture of pleasure and relief, and Sarah knew she was reassured to see her in good spirits.
Edith’s smile faded as quickly as it had come, and she looked suddenly awkward. “Have you seen the lord recently?” The words were spoken casually—almost amusingly so—but the underlying question was laced with uncertainty. Obviously, it wasn’t enough for her to simply see that Sarah was unscathed.
“Not since I changed his bandages yesterday afternoon. I’m fine,” Sarah added, sensing that she needed to hear the words. “We were so far off base, Edith. Honestly. I’m his nurse that he took pity on, so there’s nothing to worry about. He just wants a friend here.”
Alone in her room last night, she had been left with Will’s assumptions lingering in the air, stirring her doubt and uncertainty until they rang in the silence. But now in the clarity of daylight, Sarah knew how unfair it was to pin unfounded accusations on Damien. She wouldn’t be stupid, but she was definitely going to give him the benefit of the doubt. He deserved that much.
Edith’s eyes shifted to the untouched food, and she encouraged her to eat. She refused to join her when asked, but Sarah eventually convinced her to sit on the bed and keep her company. Edith seemed uncomfortable sitting idle, but she soon unwound and was laughing and smiling right along with her.
One hour and an empty tray later, Edith excused herself for a few minutes so Sarah could use the chamber pot, which was as embarrassing as it was tricky, before returning to help Sarah get dressed. They riffled through the wardrobe, and Sarah was shocked at the number of dresses that Damien had supplied her with; it was especially surprising when she realized that she liked every one of them.
She and Edith selected an elegant white hooded dress. Sarah felt strange about having her friend dress her, but Edith put her at ease, chatting as she helped slip the garment over the thin white gown Sarah already wore. The low square neckline revealed the silver pendant, and Edith nodded to it as she adjusted the dress on her shoulders.
“Lovely.” She caught her eye. “Is it from someone special?”
Sarah didn’t bother to mask her sigh. “I thought so at first, but now I’m not so sure.”
Edith nodded but didn’t press her. She helped her into the black floor-length coat, with thin white scroll and leaf detailing on the fabric, and pulled the embroidered dress sleeves through the arms of the coat. Then she set about lacing the sides of the coat together with black leather strings to tighten the fabric around Sarah’s midsection.
Edith helped her into a pair of elegant black lace-up boots and stood back, surveying Sarah’s appearance and tapping her own lip in uncertainty.
“What?” Sarah asked. “Should we put my hair up? More jewelry?”
“No, you have lovely hair.” She grinned. “But I should probably brush it before I let you go.”
Sarah chuckled good-humoredly, knowing how true that must be. She hadn’t seen a mirror in days and wondered how badly tangled her curls had become. “Thanks, but I can just run my fingers through it later.”
With a nod of consent, Edith walked over to the window, pulling the screen back to let in the fresh air and morning light. “Well, then! I believe you are presentable,” she declared, smiling at her. “But I must get back to my duties before I’m missed.”
Sarah watched as she scooped up the empty tray and headed toward the door. Impulsively, she said, “Thank you for being my friend, Edith.” That woman stopped in her tracks and tilted her head to the side, her face serious again.
“It is good to know who your true companions are,” she said, her lips curving with fondness. “And the next time you need me, I will fight my way back up here, if I must.”
Sarah grinned at her tenacity. “Okay.” Then Edith breezed through the door, closing it firmly behind her.
—
Life at the castle was not as exciting as she had expected.
Sarah killed some of the morning running her fingers through her messy waves as she looked through the wardrobe after Edith left, even though the two of them had inspected every item earlier. Then she wandered aimlessly around her room just for something to do, wishing she had thought to ask for a book as she ran her hands over the blank pieces of parchment on the writing desk.
She picked up the heavy wood handle of the seal and tipped it upside down, rubbing her thumb over the risen swirls and shapes that had been pressed into the bronze. On closer inspection, Sarah realized that it was different from the royal seal she had expected.
Obviously, she chided herself. They would never give a guest—a prior servant—a seal with the royal family’s crest on it. This design depicted a valley with stars dotting the horizon, an eagle set in its center, and was completely devoid of any lions or crowns.
When she had rifled through every empty drawer and had run out of things to keep her occupied inside, she leaned out the window and watched the sun play hide-and-seek behind thick gray clouds, reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. It was too cold to leave the window open, but the brisk air was refreshing and smelled of winter.
Sarah strained her eyes to watch the dark little spots that were the townsfolk move through the square beyond the castle gate, which was presently closed. Once, she had imagined that the spiked tips had been fashioned to keep something or someone inside the castle walls. She was suddenly very aware of those walls, ones that seemed built to give the illusion of freedom while keeping its occupants prisoners in their own minds.
It was a welcome distraction when the expected knock on her door came two hours later. Hopping off the wide ledge of the window where she had been memorizing the patterns of the guards’ movements in the courtyard below, Sarah hurried to the door, pulling her fingers through her hair as she went. Her stomach fluttered—at the blessed possibility of distraction, she told herself.
Flinging the door open, she was not at all surprised to find Damien standing there. She shot him a welcoming smile before motioning him inside. Closing the door, she quickly wiped her slick palms on her dress before he could turn around. It still felt odd to have a man in her room for any reason, though she was dying for distraction, enough so that she found herself looking forward to cleaning his wound.
The corners of Damien’s eyes crinkled in a slow smile when he took in her appearance. “That was one of my favorites.”
“Oh,” she said slowly, confused. Was he complimenting her on the dress or applauding his own taste? She could tell by his face that he hadn’t meant anything by the comment, and she was coming to realize that the man had no filter. It could have been his attempt at small talk. Maybe he felt as awkward as she did—even after their “bonding” experience yesterday—and was just better at maskin
g it. At a loss, Sarah simply said, “Well, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Damien nodded and ran his good hand back through his wet hair. He must have just showered, Sarah mused. Or taken a bath, as was more likely in this era. She couldn’t help sniffing appreciatively. He certainly smelled nice.
Sarah’s ears tingled in embarrassment when she realized what she was doing. Why was she even thinking about his hygiene at all?
Damien was smiling at her, and she felt a moment of panic that he had read her thoughts. “I used to dote on Isabella and loved to see her face light up, so it felt good to do something nice for someone else for a change.”
A breath left Sarah’s lips. He thought of her like a sister? That, she could deal with. Offering him a genuine smile of gratitude, she said, “Well, I appreciate being thought of, but don’t think that you have to keep giving me gifts. You’ve done enough for me already.”
“I told you, it is my pleasure.” He looked so sincere that she didn’t force the issue, though she wasn’t sure she would ever be comfortable accepting such lavish offerings from him all the time.
Folding her arms across her chest, Sarah suppressed a sudden shiver. She should have had Edith show her how to make a fire when she was here earlier.
“Are you cold, my lady?”
Her eyes went heavenward as she chafed her arms. “Damien, we talked about this. No ‘my lady’ anymore.” She smirked. “Friends don’t have to be so formal, you know.”
He smiled good-naturedly. It seemed so easy for him, and Sarah envied his constant joy in spite of his rough upbringing.
Abruptly, Damien turned and walked across the room, removing his coat and draping it over the desk chair in one fluid movement. He crouched before the fireplace and used one hand to stack a few logs of firewood inside without being asked.
“You shouldn’t be doing that with your injury,” Sarah said, alarmed, as she caught the way he held his right arm bent and close to his side. She would be the worst nurse in history if she allowed her wounded patient to make her a fire. “It really isn’t that bad in here,” she lied, curling and uncurling her toes inside her boots to warm them. “I can have someone help me make one later.”
“A lady should never have to make her own fire.”
Sarah moved to stand beside him. “Come on. I’m supposed to be helping you recuperate, not putting you to work. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He grinned up at her, and that cheeky playfulness had returned. “One doesn’t need both arms in perfect working order to produce an adequate flame. And besides, what better recuperation than to help a young lady and receive her joyous admiration?”
Sarah ignored his waggling brows and huffed. Why was she so annoyed? When she looked back down, Damien’s face had turned sober.
“Does this truly upset you?” Eyes that had been teasing a moment before were now earnest and searching. How could the man be so brazen and comical one moment, and then look so caring and sincere the next? The way he studied her with his lips pursed and his head tilted to the side reminded Sarah of a child—how they didn’t quite know how to sort their emotions but instead expressed each one as it came.
His openness threw her, but she found that it was refreshing to know that she could count on him to be honest. She was always second-guessing herself with Will, so it was nice to have it all out on the table for a change.
“It really is not strenuous in the least.” Damien motioned to the logs on the floor of the fireplace. “And you have my word that I won’t do anything to tax myself.”
His innocent expression and the fact that he would be cautious of his health to ease her mind prevented Sarah from staying mad at him.
Her frustration melted away as she shook her head, smiling. Did he really have to be so darn endearing? “Sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that. I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself. But, hey”—she held her hands up in surrender—“I would probably burn the castle down, so if you think it’s okay, who am I stop man from making fire?”
She wondered if the caveman reference might be lost on him, but he still grinned, sensing the joke.
“Would you like for me to show you how?” Damien shifted to the side to make room for her.
She hesitated, then knelt beside him. “But I thought a lady wasn’t supposed to touch firewood with her fingers, only with her eyes.” She batted her lashes innocently.
Damien chuckled. “Something tells me that you would do it anyway, so I might as well teach you to do it right. I would be forced to save you if you set your room aflame, and that would be a strain.”
Sarah grinned, glad for the easy camaraderie between them. She paid close attention as he rearranged the firewood, staggering the pieces so that they looked like a teepee. He began to gingerly hike up his shirtsleeve, but flexing his bad arm seemed to pain him, and Sarah could see him getting frustrated with the simple task. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked down at her and nodded once.
“Thank you.”
Sarah began folding his sleeve, and she could feel him staring into the fireplace. “Does that help?” she asked, nodding to the odd configuration of firewood to distract him, hoping to keep his pride from smarting over the fact that he had to have a girl assist him with his own clothes.
“Yes, it helps the air to circulate between the gaps; space keeps the fire alive.”
Sarah frowned. Huh.
When the sleeve was past his elbow, Damien grabbed a good handful of kindling and stuffed it under the logs and in the cracks, explaining as he went. The mechanical movements seemed to relax him, and the lines in his forehead eased. Sarah found that she was watching his face as much as his hands, wondering at the tranquility she saw there.
Striking the flint, he bent low to light the fire, and Sarah paid close attention to where he placed the flame. Damien rested his good hand on the floor, bracing himself as he leaned his head down close to the kindling. He blew gently on the weak flame and continued to breathe life into it. Sarah watched, mesmerized as he deftly encouraged the sputtering flame with gentle breaths until it caught and grew, sustaining itself. She smiled and clapped encouragingly.
Still bent low, Damien turned his head to smile at her, the growing fire casting a warm glow over his features. “Voilà,” he said softly.
“Show off.” She lightly nudged him with her shoulder. Damien didn’t seem in any hurry to have his dressings changed, and she was enjoying the feel of the of the fresh winter air at her back and the heat of the fire washing over her face. They sat there for several minutes, warming themselves by the fire and listening to the faint sounds coming in through her window.
“Hey, Damien?”
“Hmm?” he murmured, looking contentedly at the flames.
“Am I allowed to leave?”
He started and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
Sarah tapped her shoe on a red-yellow ember that jumped from the fire onto the stones. “Well, I wasn’t sure if my staying inside the castle at all times was some sort of stipulation as long as I’m your nurse.”
When she looked back at him, Damien’s expression was . . . guarded? He looked away, and the fire played off the gold flecks in his eyes. “You are not being held here against your will, if that is what you are implying. I explained that you are my guest, and you will remain that way for as long as you wish, regardless of my health. It is your choice to stay or leave; not I nor anyone else can keep you here.”
Sarah detected resignation in his voice and smiled softly. Apparently, he had as few friends here as she did and was wary of losing a single one of them. “Good. Because I think you and I should bust out of here for the afternoon.”
His mouth dipped in surprise, and she laughed. “An outing?” he asked slowly, as if the very idea were outrageous.
“Yes.” Sarah nodded her head firmly. “I’m going crazy trapped inside, and you could use some fresh air. Come on. Let’s live in the moment. So, waddaya say, pal?”
She accepted the proffered hand and stood, dusting her backside off. “We can’t go now, though. I have to swap out your bandages.”
“Sarah.” He stressed her name with an exasperated lilt, dipping his chin as if he were addressing a child. “I thought we were ‘living the minute,’ as you said.” He tapped the vertically sculpted line of scruff on his clefted chin, as if pondering something very deep. “Now how can we do that if we wait until another minute? And honestly, would you rather scrape my wound or breathe in the fresh air?”
Sarah mock-grimaced. “When you put it like that.” She gripped his good arm and began pushing him toward the door, grabbing his coat from the chair as they passed. Damien’s laugh prevented her from hiding her smile any longer.
“But you will need gloves, my dear,” he said, still chuckling. “And I shall need to fetch my cloak.”
“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Sarah said. But she ran back to the wardrobe, anyway, snatching a black pair of gloves. Wagging the gloves in front of him, she said, “Now we can break out of here.” She was feeling giddier by the minute and had to resist the urge to hum the Mission: Impossible theme song and creep stealthily down the hall.
Damien held the door open for her. “You know,” she said over her shoulder as she skipped past, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
He sighed dramatically. “What have I gotten myself into?”
~Chapter 20~
“So what should we do now that we’re past the fuzz?” Sarah made a show of glancing up and down the street as she skirted alongside the wall of the building, peering around the corner before ducking into the deserted alley. Peeking out, she motioned for Damien to follow her.
He looked amused at her antics as he jogged to catch up. “Pardon?” The word escaped his lips in a frosty cloud.